


Rosie

by saintaches



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Miscommunication, based off that reddit post, sapnap dream and george are best friends :), you know the one i'm on about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28799400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintaches/pseuds/saintaches
Summary: Once George moves to Florida, Sapnap tries to figure out why seeing him with Dream bothers him so much.
Relationships: GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 263





	Rosie

**Author's Note:**

> [title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLbyNCc0lBM)

George starts whining about the heat within ten minutes of arriving in Florida. 

Honestly, Sapnap can’t say he’s surprised in the slightest. He supposes it’s a good thing George came at the end of winter, before the real heat begins to set in. “Take this shit off then,” he says, tugging at George’s coat. “Why did you even bring this thing?”

“It was _cold_ in London, okay? I wasn’t about to freeze to death.” 

George pulls the coat off with some difficulty as his hoodie strings seem to be tangled in its depths. After wrestling with it for a few moments, he’s left standing in the middle of the airport, hand drifting mindlessly over the handle of his case and the damn coat bundled up against his chest. His eyes are red with tiredness. Sapnap thinks George looks different when he’s not looking at his face through a screen, the details distorted and muffled by his webcam. He notices the light freckles dotted over his nose, the bitten skin around his nails, the dark red split in his lip. Even his voice sounds different, more subdued than it is over teamspeak. 

Sapnap realises he’s staring and suddenly, the white squares of linoleum lined across the floor seem extremely interesting. “C’mon, Dream’s probably awake by now.” The digital clock suspended in the middle of his lock screen announces a fast approaching noon, bringing with it soft blue sunrays and clouds full to bursting with warmth. 

“I can’t believe he didn't come to the airport,” George pouts. Despite how adamant he is to seem pissed, Sapanp can pick out the softness in his gaze, the quirk of his lips he habitually acquires when he’s talking about Dream. Something about it has skeleton fingers whispering over his back, tugging his skin into gooseflesh and curling his hands into fists. 

What the fuck? Sapnap consciously untenses, trying to shake the ominous feeling. He thinks about Dream, passed out on their couch with the cat nuzzled into his chest, and feels himself smiling too. Dream really tried to stay awake for this, but with hours of video editing piling up on his weary shoulders, Sapnap’s not so surprised he’d failed. 

He shoves his phone into his back pocket as the screen dims to black. “He’s gonna be so pissed when he realises I didn't wake him up for this.” It’s perhaps not the best atmosphere for George to arrive to, but he knows Dream can never stay mad for long. Give it a few hours, he thinks, and they’ll be fine again. 

“Guess you should’ve woken him up then,” George says with his dumb pedantic smile stretched across his lips. 

Sapnap feels his stomach sinking, even as he reaches out to grab George’s case and begins wheeling it across the scuffed white flooring to the exit. George just lets him do it, hands tucked away into his front pocket. “Great, you’re a bitch offline too.” 

The sinking feeling only intensifies when George slowly falls asleep in the passenger seat during the drive back, head pressed against the window. He’s not sure how to explain the way all the air in his lungs feels stagnant, heavier than usual. Sapnap finds himself automatically slowing down, avoiding potholes so as not to jar George. 

He tells himself it’s just so George doesn’t start complaining about whacking his head against the glass. 

As anticipated, Dream is _pissed_ when he wakes up. 

He’s standing in the kitchen with his arms folded, lips pressed together as he glares at Sapnap. There’s an empty cereal box on the counter behind him, diffusing the mildly terrifying scene with a splash of cheery colour. It’s not all that effective. 

The glare melts from his face almost immediately afterwards when George shuffles into the room, blinking the residual sleep from his eyes as he tries to take everything in. Dream hastily pushes himself off the counter and tugs George against his chest, arms folding around his torso like it’s second nature. Like they’ve done this before, in a forgotten life. His chin rests atop George’s head, a perfect fit. They stand like that for a while, completely silent save from George’s muffled, _Dream, I can’t breathe._ Sapnap feels his teeth grit together. 

“How come I didn't get a hug?” It comes out as a whine despite his best efforts. 

“You didn't hug me,” George says, deadpan, as he pulls away. He looks exhausted, with shadows steadily forming under his eyes and a yawn stifled behind a clenched fist every few minutes. Behind him, Sapnap can just about see George’s shoes kicked off next to the door along with his, and the simple domesticity of it warms his heart as he remembers this is real, they’re living together now. 

He rolls his eyes. The smell of unfamiliar detergent clouds his head as he pulls George into a hug, despite his half-assed protests. George’s body is warm and real against his own, a visceral reminder that he’s actually here, no longer trapped in the confines of Sapnap’s computer monitor. Sapnap can feel it when he exhales, breath spiriting across his neck. He might not fit with George the way Dream does, but it feels right anyway, holding him close enough to pick out the steady cadence of his heartbeat. 

Sapnap tries not to let his disappointment show when George pulls away. 

Clearly, Dream has already recovered from being left on the couch, humming to himself as he stacks plates into the cupboard. Patches winds around his ankles, her tail flicking with interest. Sapnap is honestly impressed he manages to traverse the kitchen without tripping or accidentally knocking a heel against her. 

“Hey, Patches,” George crouches down, a hand outstretched. 

Sapnap shakes his head. “She doesn’t like new people, took a whole week before- oh.” 

He’s forced to stop mid sentence as Patches bumps her head against George, huge eyes staring up at him with adoration. His mouth falls open as George scoops her up, pulling her against his chest. “You were saying?” 

Dream glances behind him and laughs. “Guess it’s decided,” he says, turning to tuck a glass away onto the top shelf before swinging the door shut. “Everyone loves George.” 

And as Sapnap watches him press his nose against hers, lips tilted into a soft smile, he can’t help but agree. 

Sapnap can’t place a finger upon it, but he’s certain that something is wrong. As the days stretch into weeks since George landed in Florida, the feeling only grows, itching at his nerves until they’re rubbed raw and every touch causes white hot irritation to spike across his skin. 

It starts with small things, at first. 

He traipses into the kitchen one morning, rubbing the dust from his eyes, to see Dream and George peering down at the counter. There’s flour tipped all over the surface, eggshells drifting precariously close to the edge, and milk dripping onto the floor. Needless to say, the kitchen is an outright mess. A growing stack of pancakes sits on the table, each coated in enough sugar it makes Sapnap’s teeth hurt just to look at them. None of this is what bothers him. 

As he grabs a plate to swipe some of the pancakes for himself, Sapnap finds his eyes gravitating to where George and Dream stand by the counter. 

His fingers twitch as Dream and George clean the mess together, standing so close together he’s surprised Dream hasn’t got an elbow to the ribs. The pancakes turn sour on his tongue as Dream takes hold of George’s wrist, pulling it this way and that as they attempt to clean the milk spillage from the counter. George’s eyes flash with honey tones when he laughs, and it sounds different in person, more open since it’s not trapped within Sapnap’s headset. He continues shoving pancakes into his mouth as he watches them weave around each other like they’ve been practicing for months, two parts of a well oiled machine working perfectly in conjunction. Something about it makes him feel empty. 

The remnants of his pancakes are left discarded on the table, drowning in honey. 

The next time it happens, Sapnap’s handing Dream’s ass to him on Mario Kart, one of the only games he doesn’t seem to be annoyingly good at within the first ten minutes of play time. His switch is hooked up to the TV, and the clusterfuck happening on screen is beginning to give Sapnap a headache. 

“Fuck yeah!” He pumps his fists in victory as he takes first place. The controller slides from his grip to clatter against the floor since he’s seated on the floorboards, head leant back against the arm of the couch. Dream’s still struggling through his second lap, curses flying from his lips every time he manages to drive into a wall, or fall off the edge of the track. 

He huffs in annoyance. “There’s just too much going on,” Dream says. It sounds suspiciously close to the tone he uses when he’s about to rage quit something, so Sapnap understandably feels some concern for his poor switch controller. 

“Well yeah, that’s kinda the point…” he trails off as he turns his head to look at Dream, words dying a quick death on his tongue. 

George and Dream are sat with their shoulders pressed together, not even an inch of space between them. Even as Dream mashes random buttons on the controller as if it’s going to help him complete his third lap, George scrolls absently through twitter, face illuminated by the light pouring from his screen. He doesn’t seem to even notice as Dream yells in frustration, completely adjusted to this kind of thing. Sapnap sees their hands brush for a fleeting second. He wishes he didn't. 

With painful deliberacy, Sapnap turns his head back to the screen. It doesn’t help, the image of George and Dream so peacefully existing in each other’s space singed onto the underside of his eyelids as if by a glowing hot brand. His hands grip the controller with unnecessary force when he picks it back up, palms slippery against the sleek plastic casing. 

Sapnap realises he has a pretty fucking astronomical problem when he manages to lose to Dream in the next round, thumbs jabbing at the buttons with far too much intensity. His mind bristles as Dream crows with victory, reaching up to high-five George even though he clearly doesn’t give a shit about the game. He’s forced to leave not long after that, making up some excuse about going to bed early. 

Instead, Sapnap burns the next few hours seated in front of his PC, trying to ignore the prickling behind his eyes as he resets minecraft world after minecraft world, each one ending in shitty seeds and shittier RNG. He doesn’t care. The game music is loud enough to drown out the sound of George and Dream downstairs, laughing at some joke he’ll never get to understand. 

Sapnap freezes in the doorway, spoon halting halfway to his mouth. The ice cream tub he’s holding is beginning to make his fingers numb, but he can’t seem to move his feet further into the living room. 

On the couch, George is pressed into Dream’s side, nose drifting against the folds of his obnoxious green hoodie. His shoulders rise and fall gently, slow like the lazy movement of the evening sea. Their arms are tangled together. It’s not obvious where George’s limbs end and Dream’s begin, all knotted and jumbled as they are. George’s socked toes flex absentmindedly, curling over the edge of the couch as he half pays attention to whatever shitty movie they’ve picked out from Netflix. 

He’s not sure why, but the sight of it makes something ugly claw up the sides of Sapnap’s throat, prickling like thistles. His stomach turns, acid pooling in the sides of his cheeks. 

As George rests his head upon Dream’s shoulder, Sapnap backtracks, and he’s grateful they’re renting a relatively new build so the floorboards don’t creak as he leaves the room. He feels as though he’s seen something he shouldn’t, and guilt slowly tinges the edge of the sick feeling welling up in his chest. The ice cream is beginning to melt. Moisture covers his palms, but just looking at the tub and the dangerous level of sugar within it makes everything feel worse. Sapnap crosses into the kitchen and shoves the tub back into the freezer, slams the door with a little more force than strictly necessary. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? 

He leans his forehead against the fridge door, making an effort to breathe evenly so the nausea begins to pass. The metal surface is comforting, cold against his clammy skin. It reminds him of George’s hands, freezing cold no matter how many layers he’s wearing or the blankets he swaddles himself in to combat the powerful AC. As the parasitic mass begins to extend dark tendrils into the outskirts of his mind, Sapnap decides he needs to do something about this particular problem. Before he fucks their friendship up. 

His feet move on autopilot as he picks his way back to his room. He makes an effort to remain silent even as he steps over crumpled shirts and the various shit Dream leaves around the house, boxes filled with god-knows-what and the occasional salvaged package from his PO box. It makes for a treacherous journey, especially when his mind’s still reeling and his surroundings swim with bleary disorientation. 

Nevertheless, Sapnap somehow manages to sit in front of his computer, fingers resting over the keys with familiarity. He’s sure he looks ridiculous, sitting alone in the dark with only the faint glow emitted from his screen to illuminate the sour expression on his face. 

_Can I talk to you?_ He types out with hesitant fingers. 

The enter key seems more intimidating than usual, and he runs his fingernails around the edges of it before he finally jabs at it. A few seconds pass as his connection lags. Then the message goes through, the white text offensively unassuming considering how serious this is. 

The reply doesn’t take long to ping through, a simple _sure_ which is followed up by the ringtone blaring over his headset. Sapnap winces and flicks the volume wheel down a few notches, before his mouse slides over the green icon. 

“Hey man, what’s up?” Karl’s voice is familiar in all the right ways, the ways which don’t make Sapnap feel as though he’s about to throw up. It’s not much, but it seems to earmark the swirling tempest occupying his mind, snapping it into a neat container for him to deal with later. 

He sighs, cradling his jaw in his upturned palm. “I think I’m homophobic.”

“Wait, _what?”_

“Yeah,” he says. He’s not sure what else he can say to follow up. The weight of his words dawns on him with sickening pressure. 

The line is silent for a few moments before Karl’s voice filters back through the headset, subtly crackling every now and then. “I- pause for a sec. What even makes you say that?” 

Sapnap’s fingers trace idly over his spacebar as he sifts through his thoughts. It’s difficult, when they’re tossed up in clouds of sand and rearranged every time he thinks he’s about to grasp the answer with some semblance of certainty. So he begins to talk through it, voice hushed and lips close to his mic in case George or Dream should come upstairs and overhear him. 

He tells Karl about the nausea, about how everything has felt _different_ since he’s started living with Dream and George. The guilt which accumulates in his stomach every time this happens. The amount of cracks adorning his plaster ceiling. Sapnap only knows because of all the nights he’s spent lying awake, staring with empty eyes as he tries to push down the ugly feeling of dread which fills him after seeing George and Dream together. 

When he’s done, Karl starts to laugh. 

“What?” He demands, smarting a little at the dismissal. 

“I have good news and bad news,” Karl says once he’s calmed down. “Uh good news, I don’t think you’re homophobic.” 

Sapnap’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Huh?” 

“I’m not sure you’re gonna like this but, um. Have you considered the possibility you like George?” 

_“Huh?”_ He repeats intelligently. 

He can almost hear Karl shoving his face into his hands. “Listen, I’m just going off what you told me. And to me, it doesn’t sound like you have a problem with gay people in general. It sounds like you have a problem with George and Dream, specifically.” 

Sapnap has to think about that one for a moment. He supposes Karl has a point — he’s never had this kind of problem before, never felt acid brimming against the sides of his lungs and threatening to choke him. Worst of all, this sort of thing has happened before, when he’d seen fanart of Dream and George all over his twitter or performed a dramatic reading of fanfic about them at three in the morning over teamspeak. He’d brushed it off as having a problem with shipping back then. But now, when it’s just the three of them in the house, everything seems amplified, claustrophobic. 

Sapnap instinctively goes to deny it, but finds his words falter as they pass over his lips. “I...don’t know.” He thinks about the two of them downstairs, so close they can have entire whispered conversations without him hearing. His shoulders rise with tension. “Maybe.” 

“Why don’t you imagine it?” 

“Imagine it?” 

“Yeah. It sounds stupid, but it might help.” 

His chair squeaks as Sapnap leans back into it, head falling backwards to rest against the unyielding surface. First, he tries to imagine kissing Dream because it seems less terrifying to him. The mental image of it almost makes him burst into hysteria because it feels so stupid, to see himself with Dream that way. Imagination-Sapnap pulls away after a split second, disturbed expression layered over his face, and he figures that one’s cleared up. Dream’s like a brother to him, so he’s not sure what he expected. 

Nothing could’ve prepared him for how he feels when he thinks about kissing George instead. 

He imagines George’s hands would be cold against his neck, trailing ice over his jaw where they connect. George would bite gently at his bottom lip, tugging it between kisses only to let it snap back an instant later. His mind is pure white noise now as he thinks about how George’s tiny freckles would look up close, mapping out miniature constellations and galaxies as pretty as the milky way. And Sapnap finds himself in the middle of it all, so ensnared it hurts as the George in his mind’s eye smiles against his lips before pulling away and dispersing into shards of colour and starlight. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “I didn't expect that.” 

On the other side of the screen, Karl blows out a sigh of relief. Sapnap can hear his chair creaking as he moves closer to the mic, and the distinctive sound of fizzing as he pops a can of something open. “Crisis averted?” 

He thinks about Dream and George, cuddled up together on the couch. A bowl of snacks balanced across their thighs. His forehead falls to rest against his desk as he moans — “no. Think there’s something going on between those two.” Bitterness tinges his voice, and the ugly darkness makes a reappearance within his mind. 

“Do you know that, or are you assuming the worst?” 

It’s true, neither Dream nor George have said anything to him about it. And Dream’s an affectionate person, doesn’t particularly care what other people think if he cuddles his friends. Sapnap had learnt that in the first few weeks of living together. But their viewers seem to think there’s something different about Dream and George, if the comments flooding their twitch chats and twitter feeds are anything to go by. Still, Sapnap knows it’s not a good basis to be making assumptions on. 

“I’m jumping to conclusions,” he admits. It’s not like he’s seen them making out, or anything. 

“Okay, so talk to Dream about it, and go from there,” Karl says like it’s that easy. 

Sapnap pauses. They’ve been friends for close to a decade, so it shouldn’t be as scary as it is. He can tell Dream anything, he knows that. Although his initial instinct is to squeeze whatever it is he feels about George into a dark corner of mind until it fades out of existence, he thinks Karl might just be right. “Okay,” he finds himself saying. “I’ll ask him about it.” 

He waits until George is showering. 

Quiet humming creeps out of the bathroom, mostly obscured by the sound of running water. Sapnap finds himself oddly endeared as he pauses outside the door, even though he’d usually tease George to hell and back about it. There’s nobody here to see him when he smiles as George drops something, a soft string of curses filtering through the thin door. 

Sapnap shakes himself out of it and continues downstairs. He’s promised himself he’ll do this. It’s best to do it while there’s no way of George accidentally walking in, or overhearing something he shouldn’t. 

Dream’s office door is propped open, the unspoken sign that Sapnap can walk straight in, but he still pauses at the threshold, fist raised in uncertainty. It’s still dim in the room since the blinds are half closed, even as early morning sunlight begins to tumble through in heather tinged shafts. More boxes are pushed up against the walls, tops bowing under the weight of whatever shit Dream’s thrown into them. He’s honestly amazed by how much stuff one person can own, as well as Dream’s uncanny ability to turn it all into a constant trip hazard. 

Dream turns his chair when Sapnap knocks, curious. His editing software is pulled up on one of his monitors, a blur of colour Sapnap’s too far away from to really tell what it is. “The door’s open,” he says, the end tilting upwards like a question. 

“I know.” Sapnap stands there awkwardly, unsure what to do with his hands. “Hey, um. Can I talk to you?” 

Dream raises his eyebrows. “Sure, grab a seat,” he says, and leans forward to drag one of the boxes out. His arms strain with the effort. Sapnap sits atop it, feeling oddly like a troublemaking highschooler called to the principal's office. He forces his back to unstraighten, slumping his shoulders forward in what he hopes is a casual manner. 

No point in delaying the inevitable. “What’s with you and George?” 

That seems to grab Dream’s attention. “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you dating?” 

Dream stares at him for a moment before he snorts, a hand coming up to cover his smile. He seems to realise Sapnap is serious when he glares at him, and attempts to school his features into complacency. “No, me and George aren’t dating,” he manages with a straight face, before his lips tip upwards again. 

“Do you want to?” 

“God, no. You guys are like brothers to me,” Dream says. He’s fiddling with a pen from his desk now, clicking the top back and forth so fast Sapnap’s not sure how his thumb doesn’t cramp. “Is there any particular reason you’re asking, by the way?” 

Sapnap sits there in silence, hands pressed together. 

Realisation seems to dawn on Dream after a moment, sending his eyebrows back up into his hairline. “Oh my god, you don’t.” 

“I don’t know what to do,” Sapnap moans, shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes. He can’t deal with Dream making fun of him this early in the morning, mind still softened by sleep and running several seconds slower than usual. 

“Are you kidding? Just tell him.” So-called ‘obvious’ advice seems to be a recurring theme in Sapnap’s life at the moment. 

He throws a withering glance at Dream.“Is that really what you’d do in this situation? Hypothetically speaking.” 

“Well, yeah.” Dream blinks. Figures. 

“I can’t just… it’s not that easy,” he protests. 

The pen clatters to the desk as Dream tosses it back, narrowly missing his monitor. He’s wearing one of Sapnap’s hoodies today, black sleeves pushed up to bunch at his elbows. “How bad does it hurt to imagine him with someone else?” Sapnap’s already thought this one through. He’s lived this, weeks of acid and nausea pumping through his veins every time he’d assumed George and Dream were together. Hours of tracing over the lines on his ceiling instead of having to go downstairs and see them cuddling on the couch. It doesn’t hurt anymore, now he knows Dream has 0 interest in George like that, but there’s plenty of opportunity for it to happen again, next time for real. 

“...fucking hurts.” 

“Exactly, so it’s worth the risk, right? And it’s George, come on. Worst case scenario the house is fucking awkward for a few weeks before he forgets about it. You’re not gonna lose any friends, I promise. Just do it before it’s too late.” 

Sapnap mulls it over. Dream’s right, George isn’t likely to make it weird. The prospect of seeing George fall in love with someone else because he was too scared to say anything haunts him, pulls at his nerves tauntingly. 

“I hate to admit it,” he begins, chewing anxiously at his bottom lip. “But I think you might be right.” 

“When have I ever been wrong?” Way to ruin the heartfelt moment. 

Sapnap rolls his eyes as Dream smirks at him. “Like, a lot of the time if we’re really gonna think about it.” 

He vaguely registers the shower shutting off upstairs. The pipes stop humming as soon as it does, and the room is plunged back into uncanny silence. They both glance upwards as the white noise is removed, hyper aware of the quiet now filling up the space between them. Sapnap gets to his feet, winces because his ass hurts from sitting on an upturned box. “You really need to sort your shit out,” he says, kicking at it half heartedly. 

Dream spins back around to face his computer. “Okay, deal. If you tell George how you feel, I’ll start going through everything.” 

Sapnap feels a smile growing even though the thought of it makes his palms start sweating. “Fine, but I’m holding you to it.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

Just like most things in his life these days, the confession goes nothing like how he envisioned it. 

He spends a few days skirting around George, fumbling over his words and turning bright red at random intervals because it’s so much harder to talk to someone once you’re _aware_ you like them, as it turns out. Dream doesn’t help in the slightest, bursting into laughter whenever George leaves the room or Sapnap starts tripping over his sentences. 

The effort of struggling to retain his composure steadily begins to weigh down upon Sapnap, so it’s no surprise when everything comes to a head one night. 

He drifts aimlessly into the dark living room, head so busy he almost doesn’t see George sitting on the couch. The sight of him sitting there, Patches cradled delicately upon his lap, taps at the crevasses opening up in Sapnap’s heart until it’s threatening to break, weak ceramic bonds holding it together with hollow resonance. Dream’s words echo through his head, _just do it before it’s too late._

George always seems to hold himself like his limbs have been purposefully positioned in a certain way, so effortlessly pretty. It’s an illusion which usually lasts until he opens his mouth and Sapnap is forced to face the cold reality — George is an unapologetic dumbass. Somehow, reminding himself of this simple fact makes the sheer drop seem less deadly, until Sapnap doesn’t feel like his toes are curling over a cliff edge anymore. 

“I like you,” he says, mouth moving without permission so the syllables hurrying together in a stream of disarray. 

George’s hands continue scratching at Patches’ ears, fingers stretching to rub her nose. “I like you too,” he says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The moonlight looks ethereal against his skin, ironing out imperfections with its sympathetic gaze. It’s a laughable contrast to the bedlam occupying Sapnap’s head, panic thrumming through his arteries as he stands in front of George. 

Well, he supposes there’s no use turning back now. “No, I _like_ like you.” He winces at how immature he sounds. It’s at times like these he feels like a kid compared to George, less experienced at pretty much everything. “Like I want to kiss you and hold hands and-” 

“Why don’t you?” George interrupts. Sapnap curses himself for falling for _George,_ of all people, as he looks at his blank expression and the carefully guarded eyes gazing through the darkness at him. He’s trying to confess, damn it, and George is reacting as if he’s telling him about the weather forecast. “Kiss me.” 

Sapnap tries his best to search George’s face for something to suggest he’s joking, and comes up blank. 

George sets Patches down as Sapnap sits next to him. She has the gall to look offended for a moment, before stalking off out the door, presumably to Dream’s room. It’s terrifying, being so close to George while his entire attention is turned upon Sapnap. His features would be difficult to pick out if Sapnap hadn’t spent the last few weeks sneaking glances at them whenever possible, but as it happens, it’s all too easy to find the curved lines of his jaw, his lips, his nose. He’s not sure why he whispers, afraid to break the stillness of the atmosphere between them. “Are you sure? I’m really serious about this, I don’t want it to be some bit, y’know.” 

_Finally_ George smiles, tracing his pointer finger carefully across Sapnap’s upturned palm as though he’s memorising the lines. “Of course I know, I’ve been watching your jealous ass pretty much since I got here. It was kind of cute.” He trains the full force of his smile on Sapnap and _wow,_ he’s so fucked. 

“Fuck’s sake, George,” he says. “You really know how to make my life difficult.” 

It’s awkward at first when he pulls George closer. Their noses bump together, and Sapnap thinks he might be about to pass out because George is so, so close and the galaxies dotted across his cheeks are visible even in the dark. Dark eyelashes frame his cheekbones, juxtaposing perfectly against his skin, almost white in the lowlight. But then their lips touch, and everything else seems to fall into place. His fingers ghost through George’s hair, soft to the touch, as they find a rhythm together, both smiling so hard their teeth clash. George’s hands are cold against his neck as he pulls Sapnap closer still, trailing his palms over his sides, his waist, the back of his head. 

George pulls away, chest heaving and lips flushed dark red. “Did that live up to your expectations?” 

Sapnap answers by leaning in to kiss him again, addicted to the way George tastes, the way his hands wander everywhere, uninhibited. He’s not used to this side of George, fingers creeping up under his shirt to splay across his skin. 

“Stop,” he laughs. “Your hands are so cold.” 

George just beams up at him, making no move to remove them. Sapnap equally makes no move to push him off. Instead, he pulls George’s head onto his shoulder, allowing his arms to loop around his waist. “Can’t believe you thought I was dating Dream,” George giggles as he nuzzles his face into Sapnap’s neck. 

It takes a few tries for Sapnap’s delirious mind to put two and two together, but in his defense, he’s just spent the last few minutes kissing George after weeks of angsting over his inability to do so. “Wait, Dream _told_ you?” 

“Of course he did.” George shrugs, deadpan. “He tells me everything.” 

Sapnap bristles. “That’s literally violating bro code, that fucker-” 

“Sapnap. We literally just made out, I don’t think bro code exists in this house anymore,” George says, eyes glinting with starshine. Sapnap reaches for his hands again, terrified if he lets go of George for too long he’ll disappear and Sapnap will wake up staring at his ceiling. 

He supposes George has a point, though. And he can’t stay mad at Dream for long, considering he’s basically the one who orchestrated this. “True. Can we do it again?” 

“Yes, idiot.” 

The entire world seems to slip away as George kisses him, fading to meaningless white noise in an instant. Sapnap can’t stop smiling, only the stinging of his cheeks to remind him he’s doing it at all. Turns out he doesn’t have any problem with George kissing other guys, as long as it’s _him_ he’s kissing. 

Go figure.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this mostly in one sitting and entirely over a 6 hour period, so now words dont really make sense anymore ;-; perhaps leave kudos to pay respects? i'll be eternally grateful <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/saintaches)  
> [tumblr](https://saintaches.tumblr.com/)


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